


Untitled drabble for stasia

by iulia_linnea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 19 April 2006 in response to <a href="http://stasia.livejournal.com/profile">stasia</a>'s prompt of <i>Gregory Goyle/Hermione Granger (not dark, so no Imperio or anything): delightful, lemons, and evening</i>. Strictly speaking, not an actual drabble.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Untitled drabble for stasia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stasia/gifts).



> Written on 19 April 2006 in response to [stasia](http://stasia.livejournal.com/profile)'s prompt of _Gregory Goyle/Hermione Granger (not dark, so no Imperio or anything): delightful, lemons, and evening_. Strictly speaking, not an actual drabble.

"It's 'Gregory' now, is it?" Hermione asked, watching her fellow colleague over her glasses at the Spring Fling, which had become a post-war tradition at Hogwarts.

Never taking his eyes off of the Seventh Years cavorting across the dance floor, Gregory replied, flushing somewhat, "I think . . . I think it makes me sound distinguished."

"Yes, as distinguished as any Care of Magical Creatures professor can sound."

"That was mean, Granger. You're never mean. You've been testy all evening. What's got your knickers in a twist, then?"

"Shove off, Professor Greg—Gregory," Hermione replied, hiccoughing her way through his name and swaying uneasily.

"Delightful. You been taking bitch lessons from Professor Parkinson?" Gregory asked, feeling low, but also damned if he was going to allow Hermione to see it. _Why do I even bother_? _She'll never_ —

Just then, Hermione tripped over her own feet and tumbled into his arms, and Gregory, mortified—he never moved quickly, fearing that his natural clumsiness would undermine his professorial authority, such as it was—rushed himself and Hermione out onto the dance floor, trying not to swoon as the witch's hair, which was redolent of lemons, brushed across his face.

_Please don't be sick_ , he silently begged. _I couldn't hide that_.

"What are we doing?" Hermione demanded, though she made no attempt to disengage herself from her dance partner's arms. 

"We're dancing, Professor."

"I can sfeel, I mean, I knows—that is, I . . . ."

"You're drunk," Gregory admonished her, pleased at how easily the dance seemed to be going. 

Concentrating on making sure that his partner didn't topple was helping him to achieve some semblance of grace.

"Yes," Hermione giggled, "I am. And you've got very strong arms, _Gregory_."

"I . . . I do?" he asked, feeling himself respond in an unwelcome manner to the flattery. _Why did this have to be a waltz_?

"Yesh. You're a delightful partner," Hermione replied, pressing herself against him in an unseemly manner.

"Granger, stop that!" he admonished her, feeling prudish and aroused and terrified.

Hogwarts' professors didn't carry on like students.

With a decisive whirl, Gregory twirled Hermione out of one of the doors and onto a terrace, kicked the door shut with a foot, and then seized the witch by the arms and shook her.

"St—st—stop!"

"Tell me what you're playing at? You're pissed, woman! It's not like you."

"What would you know about me?" Hermione demanded, before turning suddenly over the terrace's railing and being quite ill indeed.

As annoyed as he was, Gregory felt sorry for his colleague. He moved toward her and pulled her hair back gently, waiting for her heaving to subside.

"Oh, oh Merlin! My head. What . . . what are we doing out here?"

"You don't remember?" Gregory asked, thoroughly surprised.

"Damn Fabian Weasley!"

"What?"

"I know it's him," Hermione raged. "That little brat spiked the punch."

"Wait!" Gregory exclaimed, restraining Hermione. "Don't cause a scene. Your godson's a Slytherin—you know it'll just mean more trouble, later."

"Why are you always so worried about what the students might do? We can't just allow him to—"

"Professor Granger, I'm a Slytherin, too, remember? I'm not going to let Fabian get away with anything."

Hermione smiled. "Fine. I won't rush in there and take points. But you're going to promise to let me help. I'm the one the little prat got drunk and made ill. All right?"

Gregory, not one for thinking on his feet, but thinking that he'd done all right so far, decided, _Maybe there's a way I can turn this to my advantage_.

After all, there were precious few other ways he could work with Hermione.

"Agreed."

"And Gregory?"

"Yeah?"

"If you wanted to dance with me, you only needed to ask," Hermione said, straightening her robes and quickly returning to the hall.

Gregory smiled. He didn't have to be a genius to know what such an offer meant.

_I knew_ " _Gregory_ " _was the right way to go_ , he thought, sedately—and appropriately professorially, or so he thought—following Hermione back into the Great Hall.


End file.
